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John Adamscan’t compete with a chance to study him uninterrupted, so I memorize my page number—it’s more efficient than bookmarks and less destructive than dog-ears—and close the book. He has buzzed brown hair and the sort of stubble that comes from being a careless shaver. The muscle definition in his bulky shoulders and arms, even the half-missing one, suggests extensive weight training. Rust stains streak his jeans, and his t-shirt has careful stitches repairing the shoulder seam. I grew up around thrifty people, but never someone who would try to mend a shirt that probably cost five dollars brand new.
There has to be a reason I can’t stop looking at him, even though he’s at least ten years younger than me and so far from my type it shouldn’t be able to spot him with a telescope. Maybe I can’t quite piece him together into a story that makes sense. Maybe he smells good and has a tight body and I’ve been so busy preparing for my move that I haven’t masturbated in weeks.
Prying my gaze away, I adjust my glasses and try harder to invest myself in the life and deeds of our country’s second president, using a pen from my breast pocket to underline important quotes.
It’s boring as hell. But ignoring what you want in favor of what’s good for you is the basis of discipline, and discipline is the only thing that kept me from crumbling in the face of the most soul-destroying legal case of my career.
Somewhere over Illinois, a voice disturbs my concentration. “The plot twist in chapter nineteen totally blew my mind.”
How dare you spoil it when I’m not there yet?When I remember that my book doesn’t have a plot, I look up to see him cuddled deep in his seat, eyes sleepy, the corner of his mouth tipped up.
If he’s going to harass me, I have a perverse desire to respond in kind. I study him pointedly. “Is that some kind of pickup line? It needs work.”
I’ve never seen someone go pale and blush at the same time before. “No. No. Absolutely not. It was just a joke, since, well, the guy on the front doesn’t seem like he’s having very much fun.”
We both look at the oil painting of Mr. Adams on the cover. He’s not wrong.
“I was trying to say thanks for getting me a drink.” As soon as the words come out, he slides lower in his seat, face wretched. “That made it worse, didn’t it? Sorry to bother you. I’ve been told I shouldn’t be allowed to speak to people.”
He’s like a bad movie—nothing makes sense and you can’t take your eyes off it. “I doubt that’s true,” I point out. “Unless you’re horribly racist or homophobic.”
Panic fills his eyes. “Did I say something racist?”
“Good God.” Without thinking, I reach over and grab his wildly bouncing knee, hold it still. He swallows, staring at my hand. “Calm down.” Letting go, I sit back and look out the window. The clouds are whiter now, low and puffy, with the Great Lakes stretched out below.
“Were you watching me sleep earlier?” He’s chewing on a loop of his earbuds cord, brows furrowed.
I want to deny it, but I’m a very honest lawyer—funny, I know—so I say nothing. After a long pause, he folds up his leg and shifts his hips to face me like he’s made some kind of decision. “Do you want to tell me your darkest secret?”
“Of course not.”
My courtroom glare doesn’t seem to affect him in the least. “Isn’t that the point of random encounters with strangers?”
“I doubt it.”
“You look like you have some. Secrets, I mean.” He keeps his voice casual, but I can see him picking nervously at a loose bit of vinyl on his seat.
“Yes. And they’re secrets because I don’t tell them to people.” That’s when I fuck up. “Are you trying to tell meyourdarkest secret?”
His laugh sounds hollow. “You’re going to make me go first?”
“I’m not making you do anything.”
Faster than I can track, he’s not laughing anymore. I can see his pulse beating hard in his neck. “I’ll never meet you again, right?”
“It seems unlikely.”
“Oh boy.” He takes a deep breath. “Okay.”
I watch his beat-up knuckles clench white around the arm of my chair. “Please remember that you’re inflicting this entirely on yourself.”
“When am I going to get a chance like this again? You’re probably the only person who will ever know.”
“You’re stalling.”
His head snaps up. “So youareinterested.”
Again, I choose not to answer rather than to lie.
